Ashes, Ashes
by sunnykong1210
Summary: Sophie learns that darkness doesn't have to mean fear; there are shades of gray to every black and white.
1. How It Began

**Ashes, Ashes**

**SUMMARY:** Sophie learns that darkness doesn't have to mean fear; there are shades of gray to every black and white.

* * *

**Chapter 1: **How It Began

* * *

Sophie wouldn't admit it, but Jack Frost wasn't the only one who would occasionally visit the Bennett household.

It began during her fifteenth summer. Nights tended to get hot at this time around, making it hard to sleep. So, in order to cure the restless nights, Sophie would open the window of her bedroom and sit on the sill, waiting for fatigue to make her eyelids heavy and her head nodding off as the cool winds would brush against her skin. Sometimes, she thought of Jack Frost, wondering if he was aware of how troublesome the sweltering summer nights can be and send a chilling gust just for her.

Thinking about Jack made her think about her brother. Jamie, who was in college now, sometimes dropped by, but given that he was usually busy and lived in the dorms Sophie didn't get to see him as much. Jack would visit Jamie whenever winter came around, but there were times when he would visit her too. "How's the Guardian business doing for you?" she would ask. He would shrug and say "Nothing much", but then proceed to tell her about North, Tooth, Sandy, Bunny, and the things he done and seen.

The winter spirit didn't come when the season would get too warm for him, though. Come to think about it, most of the Guardians weren't active during the summer. This was a realization that dawned upon Sophie after she woke up from a nightmare. This night, she didn't open the window, letting out the hot air inside, so her body was coated in sweat. Her bangs clung onto her forehead and her mind rattled from the terrible dream she escaped.

"What a shame…"

Sophie froze. The voice—unfamiliar, yet familiar—drawled silkily in her room. She felt another presence—a looming figure—next to her bed.

"It was such a nice nightmare too," sighed the man. When he strode away, his footsteps clicking against the floorboards, Sophie swallowed down her nervousness and casually got up and reached for Jamie's baseball bat that she kept as a reminder. Well, the bat was now being put to good use; she lifted the handle high and swung down as hard as she can.

"Ow!" The bat bounced off of the man's back. He spun around, but crashed to the floor when Sophie swung the bat against his legs. She tossed the bat to the side and ran for the door, intent on warning her parents of a burglar, criminal, whatever in her mind. However, just when she nearly grasped the knob, she slipped and landed on her face.

"Oh cuss," she swore. Sophie attempted to get up, but stiffened in fright when the man suddenly appeared right next to her. "Oh cuss," she repeated.

Her eyes locked with his golden gaze, and that was when she vaguely remembered her brother telling her stories about his childhood adventure with all of the Guardians, just before Jack became one. They all gathered to stop one fiend, and that fiend was the Bogeyman. Now, Sophie wasn't one who liked to jump to conclusions, but her mind was screaming "It's him! It's the Bogeyman!" If his piercing yellow eyes didn't clue her in, then the floating black sand behind him sure did.

She sent a quiet prayer that one of the Guardians would appear in her room and come to her rescue, but who? Jack Frost was probably somewhere in Alaska, Santa Claus would be busy making this year's batch of toys, she didn't have any teeth to spare for the Tooth Fairy, Easter wasn't even close, and the Sandman… Well, he was her last hope.

She mustered up whatever courage she had in her and began to draw her fist back. Just when she was about to sock the Bogeyman in the face to get the heck away from her, he spoke in that crisp silky tone of his. "You can…see me?"

And that was that.

Sophie figured that because she was the only one who could see him, Pitch—he introduced himself as—would come visit her at night. Initially, it creeped her out, having a magical man with black sand and a desperate need of a tan to pop up in her room just to check if she could still see him. But as the days would pass by, she more or less grew accustomed to his presence. It wasn't like he could harm her, just bug the crud out of her (that, he was very good at).

"It's like I hold interest in you or anything of the sort," he would say nonchalantly, but this made Sophie think otherwise. "I just want to know what you fear."

"I'm pretty sure I have nothing to be afraid of."

"Then how is it that you can see me?"

That was a good question. If what her brother had told her was true, Pitch could only be seen if she was scared. But Sophie definitely knew that she just the opposite. Sure, she was terrified of the possibility that there was someone breaking into her house, but who wouldn't be? It was surprising, though, to see that she thought of something fast and managed to take the Bogeyman down.

"I had a bad night that time," Pitch would protest, his frown becoming pronounced. "As if a mere mortal like you could ever take me, Pitch Black, down."

"Yet a couple of eight-year-olds can," Sophie would reply back, remembering when Jamie and his friends were able to stand up against him with their display of courage.

Pitch would just scowl and remain silent, and she would ignore him in return.

Their relationship wasn't friendship or anything cordial, it was...well, it was just how it was. A spirit observing a human just to see what made her tick. Sophie, in turn, sometimes treated him as though he was part of the background, like a potted plant, and yet other times treated him how she would with classmates who she typically did not like.

Because of his nightly visits, Sophie would become tired during the day. Not that Pitch cared.

"I could try to pretend that you're not here and go to sleep, but with you watching me unnerves me," she said one night.

He didn't say anything. He just stared at her.

"You're really creepy, you know that?"

"So I've been told."

This has been going on for the past two years.


	2. Why So Different

**Ashes, Ashes**

**SUMMARY:** Sophie learns that darkness doesn't have to mean fear; there are shades of gray to every black and white.

* * *

**Chapter 2: **Why So Different

**NOTE:** When I first watched the film, I thought to myself, "Well, isn't this your typical bad guy versus good guy. How different it would be if Pitch was a Guardian?" But what Guardian? There are Guardians of Hope, Dream, Fun, Wonder, and Memories. And then I realized that the classic courage and strength trait wasn't used. Hmm, the entity of fear and the power of courage—interesting and ironic. Pitch Black, the Guardian of Courage.

* * *

On the day when Sophie turned sixteen, Pitch came to visit her that night. Instead of giving her the standard "Happy Birthday!", he asked her, "Why is it that you are so unusual?"

"Well, isn't that rude," Sophie said.

"Take me seriously, girl. I want to know what makes you an aberration compared to adolescents of your age."

Sophie sighed and sat down on the edge of her bed. "What do you mean?"

The tall spirit strode before her, leaning in forward as if to make himself intimidating, but Sophie was used to this behavior. She always assumed that it was an inherent need to install fright in people, possessing the title as the Nightmare King and all. "I suppose I may have phrased it wrong," he admitted, his nose still high in the air. "It's just that you have grown rather differently compared to your brother."

"Considering the fact that he's a boy?" she said a tad impatiently. "Or maybe he was the one who experienced an epic feat of taking you down alongside the Guardians when he was just a kid? Can you go away so I can sleep?"

"Don't play stupid with me. I'm aware that every birthday he has is celebrated with a multitude of friends while you, on the other hand, deliberately choose not to invite anyone to a party. Furthermore, he has an air that is more cheerful and happy compared to your solitary gloom."

"If you're implying that I don't have friends, you're wrong. I mean, sure I don't have a big group of friends like how Jamie does, but I'm not some lonely girl ostracized by everyone." And then she added, "I'm not gloomy."

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, I'm aware," he said flatly. "But, lest I must remind you once more, you are different from your brother, and I can sense that it has something to do with experience."

Although he said it without much calculation, Sophie knew that he didn't miss the way her fingers automatically curled into balls and the stiffening in her shoulders. A small voice in her head groaned about how this reaction that happened to deviate from how she normally behaved around the spirit pleased him, if him stepping back as if to admire what work he managed in the past couple months didn't hint her on it.

"I suppose what I said was true," he commented lightly.

"I'm surprised that you don't know."

"Whatever happened to you happened where sunlight hits earth; I dwell during nightfall. You should know that."

"I do," she murmured, letting her hands relax and smooth over the sheets. "But I figured that you would know these kinds of things."

"If I did, would I still stick around here?"

Yes, Sophie answered inwardly, for company, at least—being a wandering entity for decades and decades with no one to be able to see or talk to you would be painfully lonesome. But she wasn't going to voice that thought aloud. Instead, Sophie chose not to respond, staring tiredly at her toes, and said, "In elementary and middle school, I was a target for bullies."

Pitch was silent, eyeing the girl.

"I'm not going to go over the details because it's kind of cliché. You know, girl gets bullied and becomes a loner—that kind of thing. But whenever I was at home, I was careful to hide it; knowing Jamie, he would become so overly protective of me, but I didn't want that, I didn't want support from my parents and brother. I thought that they wouldn't be able to understand the difficulties I faced; you're right about Jamie living a brighter life than I do, and my parents were pretty much the same. But me? I was different."

She paused for a moment, and then continued. "Keeping all my feelings bottled up led me to depression. My family eventually noticed this and I was sent to therapy. In the middle of eighth grade, I transferred to another school, and there I once again became a loner. It took me a month, but I eventually developed my first friendship, a genuine one."

"Touching," Pitch drawled in a beat. "But that would mean that you have moved on and got over yourself, which leads the question: Why do you emanate darkness still? It would make sense if there was a filament of darkness lingering on you; once been in the dark, you can never go back with a clean slate on your profile. That is why children are seen to be the epitome of innocence—they had never experienced the harshness of the world that their mothers shelter them from."

"Are you saying that…I give off more darkness than I should have? I mean, I did move on. I have two close friends from school, an awesome brother, loving parents, and the Guardian of Fun to come visit me from time to time. I…I don't understand…"

"Neither do I, child. Your nightmare, the one that had brought me to you in the first place, was verily intoxicating, emitting a lovely quality of hate and trepidation. I could run the theory that you are tied to the source of your deepest fear, and you don't even know what it may be."

"It's one of the reasons why you keep coming here, right? My apparent darkness? Other than to find out why I can see you when I have _nothing_ to fear."

"Ah, but that is when you are wrong. Everyone has something they are afraid of."

"Need I reiterate the happy life I currently have?" she said dryly.

Pitch smirked. "A man can have a happy life. He can be married to his beautiful wife and raise three good little children; he can live in the classic house with a white picket-fence and a dog and friendly neighbors; he can grow old with his wife and die in his sleep. But that doesn't mean that he doesn't live in constant fear. He is fearful that he would be caught cheating on his wife; he is fearful that someone would discover his criminal record; he is fearful that he would get shot by the land-shark he failed to pay back."

Sophie frowned. Trust Pitch to make things gruesome. "That's horrible."

"Very well. The man could be fearful that his children would get hurt one day, that his wife would become ill, that he won't earn enough money to support his family. Satisfied?"

"How can I be satisfied by—ugh, never mind." She shook her head. "Can't we say that I'm a jaded young lady and call this a day? Just so you know, I have school tomorrow."

"Not as jaded as the twelve-year-old from Guatemala—"

"Pitch," Sophie growled.

"I have one question, and then I shall depart."

She almost rolled her eyes. Sometimes one questioned led to two, and then three, and then four, and then fifteen. As much as it annoyed her, Pitch was rather interesting to talk to, probably more so than Jack and that was saying something—Jack was, after all, the representation of _fun_. "Shoot."

The tall being blinked. "Pardon? Shoot what?"

"Go ask your question, Pitch."

"Why is it that every birthday you have you celebrate it during the night? Why not with your acquired friends during the day?"

"That was two questions."

"Girl, I command you to answer."

"I just don't do the whole birthday party thing, alright?" she sighed. "Sure, I suppose I could invite my friends, but I rather not. I guess you can say that I'm the type of person who prefers to celebrate her special day with her family." And it certainly was never her thing even before she got bullied. It was awkward, having your classmates come over at your house to do nothing but eat cake and watch a movie. Sophie couldn't understand how Jamie could make such an event so enjoyable.

"Expected from the introverted," Pitch said thoughtfully.

"Go away, Pitch. I wanna sleep."

"One last thing."

"Oh, what now?" Sophie quelled the urge to chuck a pillow at the spirit (she did it one time, and he threw it back twice as hard) and fixed him an exasperated look.

"Happy birthday, Sophie." With that said, he disappeared amidst a small tornado of black sand.


	3. When To Stop

**Ashes, Ashes**

**Summary:** Sophie learns that darkness doesn't have to mean fear; there are shades of gray to every black and white.

* * *

**Chapter 3: **When To Stop

* * *

Seventeen-years-old and Sophie Bennet still believed. She believed in the Tooth Fairy even though she didn't have any more baby teeth to spare; she believed in Santa Claus, especially when he had placed a beautiful and mysteriously nostalgic snow globe for her under the tree on her twelfth Christmas; she believed in the Easter Bunny since he hid a few colorful eggs for her to find despite she being a bit too big to be regarded as "ankle-biter"; she believed in the Sandman because sweet dreams still exist.

She believed in Jack Frost, and he and Jamie made sure that she would. She believed in Pitch Black, and the big guy didn't even need to try. He didn't have to, not when he still made his occasional visits (was she still fearful?).

But, despite of how much she believed, Sophie didn't have time to acknowledge their existence. From essays to community service to exams, the girl would fall on top of her bed and immediately slip into slumber without giving Pitch a minute of her attention. She was busy; she was exhausted. It seemed to go on forever when it had only been half a year.

The other Guardians weren't bothered; they knew how demanding a young adult's life can be, and they too got their hands full. Pitch, on the other hand, was disgruntled. If he appeared before her, she would walk around him. If he called out to her, she would ignore him. He even experimented on this by taking a two week absence; when he returned, she hadn't even noticed.

She wasn't noticing now. Her room was flooded with light due to the small lamp sitting on top of her desk. Sophie spilled herself over her work, her hand in constant motion scribbling down notes while her eyes flickered from her notebook to her laptop screen behind her glasses. He hated when the girl stayed up late to study—it was as if she allowed the detrimental illumination from the lamp to pervade the usual floors that he strode upon, to cast a barrier separating him from her.

Pitch took shelter in her closet and had the blankets of darkness shroud him protectively. He loathed the way light gleamed boldly, so white and bright, and the way the girl welcomed its feather touches regardless of how artificial the emanation may be. Electricity, he mused grimly, was a handy repellant against the dark when candle-lit flames couldn't do much justice.

"Pay attention to me."

He was surprised to feel his voice rumble from his throat and his lips form the words. He didn't intend on saying anything; she hardly looked at him even whenever he spoke to her.

Much to his shock, Sophie actually responded. "I'm busy at the moment. I'll talk to you later."

"You're always busy," he scoffed.

"I'm only human," she said, turning her head to shoot him a look of exasperation. "And seventeen. I don't have the freedom I once had when I was fifteen."

"Impossible. There are children your age who don't expend their energy on schoolwork and other frivolous tasks." He paused. "At least, that was what it was like centuries ago."

"Well, sorry that you have to stick around for the twenty-first century," she said dryly.

Just when he was about to make his retort, Sophie looked away and pulled one of the desk's drawers out. She rummaged through the contents and pulled out earbuds. She stuffed her ears with them and attached the metallic end to the laptop. Pitched grimaced.

"Oh, what is so fascinating about schoolwork anyway?" he grumbled aloud. The spirit shot up to his feet and began pacing around in impatience despite the tiny space. "All there is nowadays is work, work, work! Pathetic little fools, gluing themselves to paper and pencil and books when there is a whole world out there!"

"I don't see why you're still here," Sophie sighed, taking one bud out. She raised an eyebrow. "If you're so bored outta your mind, then you can always leave and terrorize other unfortunate children."

"Yes, and let myself perish alive because I'm desperate enough to leave even when the light could burn me to a crisp," Pitch drawled. "Think, child! Would I have left this place if I noticed you had yet _more_ things to study about?"

She held her hands up in defense. "Whoa, calm yourself. I just don't wanna take anymore of your complaining."

He fumed. "I am not complaining!"

"So you say," the girl muttered under her breath, her words reached his ears nonetheless.

"I am simply perturbed with how infrequent I am able to analyze you. How am I able to discover your fear when I can barely hold a conversation with you?"

"How can you _analyze_ me with a conversation?"

"I demand that you cease your task and pay attention to me at once," Pitch declared imperiously.

"Seriously, Pitch, this is important. You know what? Never mind—you hardly see anything as important if it's irrelevant to fear and darkness." With that said, Sophie placed the bud back in and resumed back to her studies. Pitch called out to her several times, but the girl did not respond to him again, most likely listening to whatever music that she had set in high volume.

He groused to himself before sitting back down. It might take two or three hours before the girl chose to turn off the lamp, and when that time comes she would be nothing more than an unconscious heap of wasted youthfulness and crammed book-knowledge.


End file.
